Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  ***

  She didn’t want to try to vanish into Ward’s office with the scarlet armor, which she’d stuffed into a nondescript olive green duffel bag. Instead, she parked the pickup a short distance away from TriTech and slung the bag over her shoulder. She groaned as the weight of the armor nearly doubled her over. Emma had said the armor weighed almost nothing; maybe this was its way to punish Sylvia. She knew full well the lengths the armor would go to in order to protect itself; it had once switched Emma into Becky’s body to ward off an alien parasite.

  She grunted with each step as she slowly made her way along the sidewalk. “You aren’t going to stop me,” she said. “Not when I’m this close.”

  She made it within fifty yards of the front door before the first guard approached her. Unlike the earlier security guard, this one actually paid attention to his job. Not only that, he carried an Uzi instead of a flashlight. “We’re closed,” the guard said with a Slavic accent.

  “I’m here to deliver a package to Mr. Ward.”

  “I said we’re closed.” The guard brandished the Uzi for emphasis.

  “Tell him Ms. Joubert is here with the item he requested.” The guard didn’t make a move for his radio. “If he finds out you screwed this up, you’re going to be wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the harbor. Comprende?”

  The guard considered this for a moment and then tapped the button on his radio. In Russian he relayed his message to his supervisor. The supervisor replied in Russian to let her pass. Sylvia wasn’t as fluent in the language as Emma but she’d picked up enough to get the gist of the conversation. She resettled the bag on her shoulder with a grunt and brushed past the guard.

  The rest of the guards proved to be much easier. They even had an elevator waiting to take her up to Ward’s office on the thirteenth floor. She set the bag of armor down as the elevator started to glide up and heaved a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t be much longer until she saw Tim again, until he was safe.

  The doors opened to Ward’s office, where two guards identical to the first one waited for her. Ward was there as well, behind his desk with that damnably smug grin of his Sylvia couldn’t wait to wipe off his face as she tore his head off his torso. With another grunt she swung the bag onto her shoulder again and made her way to Ward’s desk; the guards fell in behind her.

  “Well, you’re back sooner than I expected. Do you have the item?”

  Sylvia dropped the bag onto his desk. She felt a bit of pleasure when she shattered a glass paperweight on his desk. Then she took a step back to let him reach into the bag and pull out the scarlet helmet with its gold plume. He cradled this in his hands and studied it for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Well done. I thought you might try to double-cross me with a fake set of armor,” he said.

  “I knew you were too smart to fall for that one.”

  “And what about our dear Dr. Earl? Did you dispose of her?”

  “You know about Emma? Then why didn’t you kill her yourself?”

  “You’re so much closer to her than I am; it was far easier for you to get the armor from her.” Ward set the helmet aside on his desk. “What did you do with her?”

  “I killed her and dumped the body in the harbor. By the time it shows up, no one will be able to recognize it.”

  “Very good. Such a waste, though. If I had someone with a mind like hers—”

  “You have Tim. And I want him back. Now.”

  “Oh, yes, of course you do. After all, you betrayed everyone you love for him, didn’t you? But that’s not unusual for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, we’re in the same business.”

  “We may both sell guns, but we’re not in the same business. You’re a slimy shit who’d kill his own grandmother for the right price.”

  “And you sold out your sister and your best friend. What does that make you?”

  Sylvia wanted to deny this, but she could only hang her head in shame. “Just let me have Tim. That’s all I want.”

  “Certainly.” Ward brought up a security monitor, on which she could see Tim still hard at work in his lab. His hair was mussed and stubble dotted his chin as if he hadn’t slept in days. He probably hadn’t. “There he is, safe and sound.”

  “Have one of your goons bring him up here. Then I’ll personally make sure that bomb of yours is disarmed.”

  “Not a problem. Mikhail, would you go and bring Mr. Cooper up here?” One of the guards nodded and boarded the elevator. Then Ward set the scarlet helmet back in the duffel bag. “Now, while we wait for Timothy, put this into the vault for me.” He motioned to a square metal box about the size of a bank vault, except in this case there was no money inside.

  “Do it yourself.”

  “There’s still time to set off the bomb in Timothy’s pocket.”

  “Why me?”

  “Call me paranoid, but I’d rather you put it in there in case you decided to leave a little surprise in the bag.”

  As much as she wanted to argue, Sylvia had to admit she’d probably insist on the same thing under the circumstances. The vault he’d constructed would probably be strong enough to withstand the blast of anything she might have left in the bag, not that a conventional explosive would do any good against the red armor.

  “Fine,” she said. She hefted the bag from the desk and carried it slowly across the office, to the vault. The guard followed after her in case she tried to escape, not that she would until she had Tim somewhere safe.

  The door to the vault was already open so she could see there was nothing inside it. It was just an empty box made of highly polished metal. With a sigh, she staggered across the vault’s threshold—

  The moment she did, it was as if a snake had bit her and spread a fast-acting poison through her body. She didn’t so much drop the duffel bag as it slipped out of fingers that had suddenly gone numb. Her legs turned wobbly until she finally dropped to her knees; she gasped for air in the same way Emma had back in the salon earlier.

  Then she heard the door slam behind her.

  ***

  Sylvia relaxed her body until her breath came back. She managed to get herself into a seated position at the same moment a light came on overhead. When it did, she let out a gasp. The polished surface of the vault’s interior was like a mirror and in that mirror she saw the deep wrinkles around her eyes, mouth, and forehead. She could even see gray hairs scattered amongst the red ones.

  “I wasn’t sure it would work, but by all accounts it has,” Ward’s voice said.

  Sylvia looked up to see a video camera stared back at her. Beneath this a video monitor came to life; Ward grinned smugly at her. “What did you do?” she asked.

  “It’s simple, really. I borrowed some materials from that other dimension where you sent your sister and her friend. Actually it works on the same principle as your sister’s friend. The metal all around you and that bag of armor are out of phase with our universe, so they’re resistant to your magic, making sort of an anti-magic bubble.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Sylvia said, but when she tried to conjure a fireball to hurl at the video camera, nothing happened. She ran through the rest of her spells to no effect. She saw more gray crop up in her hair. Now she knew why: the spell she’d cast on herself to look young was coming undone in this “anti-magic bubble” as Ward had called it.

  “I think you’re starting to understand now,” Ward said. “The Greeks have a story about a man who wished to live forever. Finally the gods granted his wish, but double-crossed him. Instead of making him young forever, he continued to age until only an echo of his voice remained. That’s just a story, but now I guess we’ll get to see how it works in the real world. Maybe your bones will literally turn to dust. All I know is it’s going to be a very long, painful death.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Funny you should say that. One of my distant ancestors was a bastard. Her no good mother dumped her off on the steps of Notre Dame cathe
dral because she was afraid to tell her sister she’d fucked her sister’s husband and gotten knocked up. Sound familiar?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said quietly. “It does.”

  ***

  The Boboli Gardens are immense, more than eleven acres of land. I wander along the paths; my heart aches whenever I see a woman push a baby carriage along. I try to envision myself like that as I take my little girl for a stroll. The problem is that all of these women have husbands with them, while I am alone.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon when I finally descend the stairs into the ancient amphitheater. On the way down, I search the rows of seats for Alejandro, but he’s not here yet. He might never show up here, at least not today. His coach might have been delayed or he might have already died on the way here. No, I would know if he was dead.

  There’s nothing to do but to mount the white stone steps into the rows of seats. I stare at the grass field where plays and such were once held—and possibly still are held from time to time. The baby kicks again. “Papa will be here soon,” I whisper to her.

  An hour goes and still he doesn’t show up. I hadn’t slept the night before and without an energy boost potion to help me stay awake, fatigue finally catches up to me. I stretch out on the stone seats and turn on to my side with my stomach hanging over the bench. I use my hands as a pillow and soon drift off to sleep.

  I’m still in this position when I feel a hand touch my back. “Mademoiselle Sylvia,” Alejandro says softly. “Wake up.”

  My hands have fallen asleep, so it’s awkward for me to roll my bulky body onto my back. When I do, the smile fades from Alejandro’s face. His skin drains of color, to give him a sickly pallor. “What have you done?” he whispers.

  “It isn’t what I’ve done,” I say. “It’s what we have done. She’s ours.”

  “No. That can’t be.”

  “It has to be. I haven’t been with anyone else.”

  Alejandro sags onto the bench beside me. He buries his face in his hands. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

  “Why do you keep blaming me? I didn’t will this to happen.”

  “Of course you did! You wanted to get pregnant like your sister.”

  “You’re being absurd. I didn’t will myself to get pregnant.”

  Alejandro says nothing, but he refuses to look at me—or my stomach. “How old is it?”

  “She is about six months old.”

  “How do you know it’s a girl child?”

  “I just know.”

  “There’s still time to get rid of it,” he says.

  I slap him across the face hard enough to leave red marks. “How dare you! I would never kill an innocent child.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?”

  I realize when I look in his eyes how stupid I’ve been. Of course he doesn’t want to leave Aggie for me. It’s futile to even suggest it. “Did you ever really love me?” I ask him.

  He touches my hair and brushes it back as he always does before he kisses me. Only this time he doesn’t kiss me. He says only, “I do love you, Sylvia.”

  “But not like how you love Agnes.”

  “Agnes is my wife. And the mother of my children.”

  “She’s a proper lady. And I’m not,” I mutter. I think of Mama and how long she tried to make me into a lady without success.

  “I am sorry, Mademoiselle Sylvia. I thought you understood. You and I can never be together in that way.”

  “Some part of me probably did know.” Then I look down sadly at my stomach. “What do we do now?”

  He thinks about this for a couple of minutes. Finally he says, “My nephew encountered a similar situation.”

  “Must run in the family then.”

  “He took the mother of his child to a secluded location and she gave birth to the child. When it was healthy enough, he returned and brought the child to his wife, claiming he had adopted it.”

  “What happened to the mother?”

  “She was well cared for.”

  “You mean he bribed her.”

  “If that’s how you choose to look at it. He could have easily left them both on their own to live in poverty, as outcasts.” He tries to take my arm, but I shake it away. “You can stay with my cousin at the vineyard. You can give birth there. Once the child’s old enough, I’ll take it home to Agnes. I’ll say I’ve adopted it.”

  “What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  “You can still see the child, as her aunt.”

  “You mean I can never tell my own daughter I’m her mother?”

  “Yes. Otherwise we will all be undone. Not just you and I, but Agnes as well.”

  I stare down at my stomach again and put my hand on where my daughter grows inside of me. Alejandro’s scenario makes sense from a practical point of view. Everyone wins: our child gets a good home, there’s no scandal to destroy his reputation, Aggie never has to find out, and I can still see my daughter. Except I can never tell her I’m her mother. I imagine her as a little girl; she stares at me with a stranger’s eyes when I come to visit for the holidays and the two of us exchange awkward, stilted pleasantries like strangers. I see her as a young woman about to give birth to her own child; she takes Aggie’s hand while I have to wait outside while my own grandchild is born.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Sylvia—”

  “I’m not going to do it.”

  “But you must. Or else—”

  “I won’t ruin your precious reputation either.” I stand up and then glare at him as intently as I can, although the effect is ruined by the tears in my eyes. “You are never going to see our child or me again.”

  “Sylvia, wait!” he calls after me, but I’m already running down the steps. I’m not all that fast in this condition, but I’m fast enough to get beneath the seats, where he can’t see me. That’s as far as I need to go.

  It takes about six months for Souray, a sleazy lawyer I met, to find a suitable home for my daughter. The family he found leaps at the chance to adopt a baby girl. They agree to the contract that they will not divulge to the girl she’s adopted. There are also no details given about me, so they can’t ever contact me—so she can’t ever contact me.

  The meeting will take place near Notre Dame Cathedral. Despite my hatred of the church, this is a well-known location easily accessible to both sides and completely neutral.

  “Are you certain about this, Madam Joubert?” Jaida, my maid and my daughter’s nurse, asks me.

  “Yes. You have to take her there.”

  “Me?”

  “I can’t let them see me. They can’t ever know who I am.”

  “I understand,” she says, though she probably doesn’t.

  “Once you leave with her, you’re never going to see me again.”

  “Madam?”

  “I’m leaving. Tonight. I won’t tell you where.”

  “I’m sorry, Madam. Did I offend you in some way? Have I performed inadequately?”

  “No, Jaida. You’ve been exceptional.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not sure where I’m going and wherever it is, it won’t be the kind of place for you or your children.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I need to go somewhere far away, to make sure I don’t see her.” I look down sadly at my feet and wish I could take Jaida for the company, but I can’t. She has her own family to worry about. “You can stay here if you want or go back to Cairo. I’ll pay for it either way.”

  “That’s really too generous—”

  “You’ve earned it.” I give her a brief hug to show my appreciation. “I’m sorry about putting you through all of this. Just remember I’m trusting you with her life until the exchange is made. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Madam. I will protect her with my life.”

  Jaida leaves at sundown with my child. She makes sure to dress the baby in warm clothing, a bonnet over the girl’s head. That bonnet and her jacket are all I can see of her as I follow Jai
da. She has no idea I follow her, or at least I assume she doesn’t. I use Hisae Chiu’s training to stay to the shadows, to all but disappear.

  In my jacket I have two pistols, my crossbow, and my knife. If there’s any problem at all with the exchange, I’ll be prepared to rescue my daughter. At that point Souray and the prospective parents will regret trying to cross me.

  I’ve never gone to Notre Dame for obvious reasons. I’ve passed it a few times, so I know where it is. I get there before Jaida and find a place across the street where I can hide behind a barrel and watch with my nightcrystal lenses. Souray is already there, along with a carriage that will take my daughter away, out of my life.

  Jaida comes into sight a few minutes later. She clutches my daughter to her chest, to protect the girl like her own child, just as she said she would. Even from my vantage, I can tell there are tears in Jaida’s eyes. I hate myself for making her do this, but it’s the only way to give my daughter what she deserves.

  There’s a brief conversation between Jaida and Souray. She hesitates for a moment before she hands over the child. The lawyer takes my daughter and for nearly the first time since she was born, I hear her cry.

  There are a few more words before Souray hands the girl off to the people inside the carriage—her new parents. The lawyer then climbs up onto the carriage beside the driver, where he’ll probably hitch a ride closer to his office. Jaida turns in my direction and from the way she stares straight at me, I know she knows I’m there. She gives me a wave to say goodbye.

  I’m not there when she returns home. I’m already on a carriage to take me north to England—and then to America.

  “I did what I thought was best for her,” Sylvia said.

  “What was best for you,” Harry Ward said. “Then you forgot all about her.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, I never forgot her.” She crawled over to a corner of the vault and pressed her face against the wall so Ward—the blighted fruit of her and Alejandro’s affair—wouldn’t be able to see her cry for all she had lost.